


39.7 Degrees

by Lady_T_220



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Fluff, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-21
Updated: 2011-05-21
Packaged: 2017-10-19 16:09:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/202719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_T_220/pseuds/Lady_T_220
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin goes viral, in an entirely analogue fashion</p>
            </blockquote>





	39.7 Degrees

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Cabin Pressure fic prompt meme - [Original Prompt](http://cabinpres-fic.livejournal.com/728.html?thread=147928#t147928)

The alarm clock was like a siren going off in the middle of Martin's desperately needed but painfully unsettled sleep. He woke to blaring noise, hideous disorientation, and the knobbly feeling of the bed linens bunched up underneath him. His t-shirt was damp and sweaty against his skin and Martin groaned miserably. He'd felt the creeping swell of illness nagging at him for days, but he'd pushed the feeling aside for as long as he could just to make it through the painfully unrelenting flight schedule they had. Carolyn had somehow organised as many jobs as she could legally cram in and, finally graced with a single night off, whatever virus Martin had been fighting had finally managed to overtake him. His eyes felt gummy, his head thick, and the only thing he really wanted to do was collapse back into his pillow and maybe quietly die so he wouldn't have to get up and admit to how amazingly awful he felt.

On the bookcase across the room, the alarm clock changed pitch into its second and even more piercing round of beeps and Martin rolled groggily out of bed just to make it shut up. The light was too bright when he turned it on, and the world outside was definitely too dark. 5am starts in mid-winter were miserable even at the best of times, and Martin shivered, wrapping his arms around himself as he blinked drowsily at the mess of sheets he'd left on the bed. The cotton was patched and damp from where he'd sweated through and he grimaced as he pulled off his sodden t-shirt and shorts. He tossed them into the laundry pile in the corner before grabbing his towel and shuffling naked to the bathroom.

It was not going to be a good day, he could sense that already. He was achy and weak, his hands trembling, and though a scalding shower did go some way towards blowing away the cobwebs Martin could feel the insidious pull of dizziness lurking insistently at the corners of his mind. He swallowed two Paracetamol and a coffee so strong he could almost stand his spoon up in it, skipping breakfast entirely when his stomach lurched unpleasantly at the thought.

On the road outside, the taxi to the airfield honked impatiently.

\---

Martin was prickly and hot in his uniform jacket, but he was too cold without it, and the blast of warm, dry air in the portacabin made sweat bead across his forehead. The room was mercifully quiet however; Carolyn was in her office with Arthur, Douglas was absent entirely, and Martin slumped down into one of the plastic chairs with a sigh. His eyes slid closed in exhaustion and he let out a low groan as he embraced the few precious moments of stillness.

Still curled up tightly in his coat, Martin let himself doze. He was distantly conscious that he was shivering, though his awareness of it seemed to fade the longer he sat there. He'd really only meant to close his eyes for a minute but the pleasantly muffled silence was welcoming and warm, and the creeping darkness buffered the edge of his senses.

"You OK, Skip?" Arthur said.

Martin jerked awake, blinking furiously. It was still dark outside, though not the pitch black it had been when he arrived.

"Yes," he managed roughly. "Fine, just... late night, that's all. You know how it is."

He gave a weak smile and Arthur looked at him in confusion.

"Right. It's just, and I don't mean to be rude or anything, but you do look all kind of... squishy."

"Really?" Martin forced a laugh. "No, I'm absolutely great. I was just- ...resting my eyes, that's all. I'll have some coffee and perk right up."

"Oh, right," Arthur said, unconvinced. "Do you often snore when you rest your eyes? I know Mum does."

"Something like that," Martin mumbled. His head was pounding fiercely now that he was awake again and he cringed as the door to the portacabin blew open, heralding the arrival of Douglas. As if on cue Carolyn finally emerged from her office, flinging a pile of papers into Martin's lap before firing off a series of rapid instructions about their proposed departure.

Martin rubbed distractedly at the mounting pain in his head, his eyes growing blurry as he looked at the flight plan in front of him. The pages seemed to swim in and out of focus, remaining resolutely incomprehensible no matter how hard he stared at them, and he felt a tight knot of frustrated panic begin to swell inside him.

"Have you got that?" Carolyn snapped and Martin's head jerked up to gawp at her blankly, barely catching her terse hand-wave before Douglas was gathering his things and heading for the door.

"Are you going to join us, Sir?" Douglas drawled, "And actually perhaps... fly the plane? Or is Sir going to remain here and attempt to fly the plane from within the portacabin? I know Sir's talents are numerous, and mysterious."

Martin shook his head dazedly, fingers tightening around the edge of the table in front of him as he attempted to get to his feet. His legs didn't seem to want to work and the papers slid from his lap as he wobbled precariously, Douglas's voice suddenly a very long way away.

"Martin?"

It was a bad idea, possibly, that whole 'standing up' thing. It was overrated anyway, Martin thought, and he swallowed hard as the room spun rather viciously around him.

"Oh, God..."

Martin's knees buckled just as time seemed to become suddenly very slow. The portacabin tilted rather curiously sideways and he had the distinct sensation of falling just before everything went very dark.

\---

"...Skip...?"

The voice sounded half a mile away and under water and Martin moaned feebly.

A second voice, deeper, calmer, broke the surface of the wallowing thickness and Martin winced as it seemed to bore directly through his skull. "There you are now. I think he's coming round."

Martin whimpered. His headache was absolutely blinding and there was something lumpy that smelled of Douglas's cologne wadded up under his cheek. He vaguely registered he was in the recovery position on the gritty carpet, one of Gertie's passenger blankets thrown over him. A broad, warm palm pressed heavily on his shoulder.

Martin's eyes slid open, the world swimming for a moment before it focused into the image of Douglas's face, peering at him with concern.

"Back with us, Martin? There's a good boy. Don't try to move now. Carolyn's gone for the airfield medic."

"...'m ok..." Martin murmured. Despite the squeeze of fingers around his arm trying to still him, Martin fumbled as he tried to sit up, trembling hands gripping tightly against the weave of the carpet as another wash of dizziness overwhelmed him. It seemed to grey the edges of his vision and he wobbled, lurching forward even as he felt Douglas supporting his weight from behind.

"Arthur, get the bin," Douglas ordered. "I think he's going to-"

The plastic tub was thrust under Martin's chin just in time to catch the meagre contents of his empty stomach, sour coffee and little else as Martin heaved wretchedly.

"Oh, Skip," Arthur said. "You've gone all green and sweaty and stuff. Like Bruce Banner but less angry and more... sort of sicky..."

"Yes, thank you, Arthur," Douglas interrupted. "Would you fetch a glass of water for our illustrious captain rather than just comparing him to the Incredible Vomiting Hulk?"

"Sorry, Douglas," Arthur said, rooting around for a plastic beaker.

The water appeared in Martin's peripheral vision a moment later, distracting him from his unhappy nursing of the waste paper basket and Martin reached for it shakily, bringing it to his lips even as he clung tightly to the bin with his other hand.

"Rinse and spit, first," Douglas said sternly. "Then little sips."

Martin did as he was told, taking a few small mouthfuls before Douglas took the cup from his unresisting fingers and Martin shivered, groaning even as he teeth began to chatter.

"S-... sorry..." he managed shakily. "I didn't mean to-" Martin paused, forcing himself to look at where he'd been lying, and at the navy coat that had been stuffed under his head as a pillow. "Did I get sick on your jacket?"

"It's alright, Martin," Douglas said quietly. "You gave us all a rather nasty scare."

Martin squeezed his eyes shut in humiliation and pulled the blanket tighter around himself, letting Douglas hand the bin off to Arthur. A warm, dry palm pressed against his forehead in a way that no one had done since he was a child and Martin leaned into the touch instinctively, seeking warmth as Douglas tutted.

"Well the fever would explain a great deal," Douglas said. "I thought it could have been a concussion but you didn't hit your head on the way down. You more just... slid gracefully sideways into a little Captain-y puddle." He paused, feeling Martin's trembling increase. "You're still cold?" he asked and Martin nodded miserably.

"Come on then, let's get you off this floor." Douglas shifted round so he could get one arm under Martin's knees, the other curling tightly around his back.

"Wait, what are you doing?" Martin slurred.

"Not trusting you to get up without falling over," Douglas grunted, straining as he hauled Martin up into his arms. "I haven't had to do this since, oh, that training thing in Ipswich. You have to stop fainting on me, I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Mum's back with the ambulance," Arthur said excitedly, peering out the window. "He's got flashy lights on his van. Do you think he'd put the sirens on if I asked him nicely?"

Douglas dropped Martin down onto one of the tables, straightening the blanket before looking at him seriously.

"I just want you to know, Martin, that if thanks to your ridiculous decision to try and 'work through it' you have succeeded in giving me your wretched dose of flu, as soon as you are recovered I will absolutely hunt you down and strangle you. Fair warning."

Martin managed a weak smile, nodding his understanding even as he leaned into the comforting arm Douglas wrapped around his shoulders.


End file.
